Silver lining:
wishful trust,
wooden nickels,
pixie dust.
And yet that which
I can’t deny:
white hot silver
in the sky.
Thanks yet again to photographer Emily Berg Baine.
Tag Archives: clouds
August 27.20: Coping
Upturned
to its cousin the cloud
like porcelain saucer
does each white flower
catch the spill of sun.
August 1.20: Coping
If I could befriend watercolor
and dip my brush into a sunset,
I would capture this
with scrupulous palette.
Then again, if I did,
and caged it in a frame.
how deluded would I be
to think it looked the same?
More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.
July 12.20: Coping
My muse! Impertinent,
wayward thing!
Taunting me
on mighty wing!
Graceful she,
in bluest height,
indifferent
as I try to write.
I watch her float,
from earth unbound,
while I, like stone,
am stuck to ground.
In those clouds
vocabulary,
eloquence
extraordinary.
She could bring it
to cloddish me,
but prefers to soar
metaphorically.
July 5.20: Coping
From a purpling east
in pompadoured peach
toward twilight sun
they’ll never reach —
no matter: in beauty
airy, narcotic
they revel in being
purely quixotic.
June 27.19
Storm tinctured
ocean plies its blue
like cathedral window
unknowable mystery
ungraspable hue.
Soaring, long-winged birds
marvel in their way
borne on air and wonder
opalescent swirl above
liquid sapphire under.
Many more thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.
Disconnections: July 24.18
Some of us know it
from school days gone by
the rarified glow
of a holycard sky.
Angels and saints
no laggards allowed
canopied ever
by holycard cloud
its edges alive
with a peachy-gold hue
it had to be thus —
plain white wouldn’t do.
It all seemed marshmallowy
pretend, and ideal,
but I see it right now
undeniably real.
A word about holycards: they were tokens of acknowledgement given out in Catholic schools ever so long ago. They all depicted role models. Kind of like baseball cards but more flowy. And with lilies. In that time a coveted laurel.
Disconnections: June 24.18
A willing suspension
of everything,
deliberate slow reach
daring, cautious quest
rising skyward from some restless molecule
within —
if you’re lucky
the grass prickles your back
clover tickles your heels
summer earth pillows your head
if you’re good at it
you seem mere debris
senseless —
the fine art of watching clouds
is not quickly attained.
Practice.
Disconnections: June 8.18
Platinum gild
on buttermilk sky
no wonder Icarus
flew too high.
Connections: February 17.18
Night light
haze and drift
shade and shadow
rise and shift
Stygian flow
through hollow space
hobgoblins of life
dance on my face.
Thanks yet again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
